


Shattered

by MajorTrouble



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Soft Boys, Tumblr Prompt, bamf!Jaskier, but only barely, fae court, i just like it is all, this is what I did instead of working today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23901250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble
Summary: Tumblr prompt: if you want another geraskier prompt, how about jaskier saving geralt from the fae court? bamf jaskier ftw
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 353





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr prompt! Well, apparently this is what I'm doing now instead of finished the main story. #sorrynotsorry I really liked writing this. Thank-you <3 
> 
> Find me @ major-trouble.tumblr.com

It was dark now, the sun having set long ago and the moon only providing patches of light as it filtered down through the trees. The forest was deathly quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Almost like it was holding its breath. No breeze stirred the leaves, no tiny animals scurried through the undergrowth, no nocturnal creatures at all disturbed the air. 

Jaskier tried to make as little noise as possible as he moved through the forest. He knew that anything he did to disturb the quiet would bring attention to himself. The path he followed was difficult to make out, but when he looked through the piece of glass the old wise-woman had given him - dug out of the ground inside a circle of toadstools - he could see the red trail as it wound through the trees, leading him deeper into the forest. It was a fuzzy line that hovered just above the rutted deer track, twisting amongst them back and forth, and he’d been following it since the sun had gone down. He didn’t know exactly where it led, but he did know that at the end of it, he’d find Geralt.

Sweat was collecting on his brow and between his shoulder blades. It ran down his spine and soaked into the fabric of his chemise. The old wise-woman had tried to prepare him as best he could. There were marigolds and daisies braided in his hair, and the daggers strapped to his thighs were steel. On his fingers were silver rings and his pockets were filled with salt. He hoped these would be enough, but also knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that if Geralt hadn’t been able to outsmart them and get away unscathed, what chance did he have?

It had started easily enough. Something had snatched several children from their homes, leaving behind pitchers of sour milk. The townsfolk had insisted that the children were still alive, but had been reluctant to give details until Jaskier had pushed, saying that they couldn’t very well return not-dead children if they didn’t know that said children were indeed not-dead and why. So the old wise-woman, the one that lived in a ramshackle cottage that smelled of potions and herbs and iron, took them to the edge of the forest and showed them the broken fairy ring. 

Geralt had gone quiet then. He’d asked about the path through the woods. And the old wise-woman had dug up two pieces of glass from amongst the broken toadstools. Then the Witcher had told Jaskier to stand at the edge of the woods and wait, one night and one day, and that if the children didn’t come out of the woods at dusk, none of them were coming back. Jaskier had protested - of course he had - because what a glorious adventure this would be! Rescuing children from the heart of the Fae Court? How could he resist? But Geralt had gotten that look in his eye that meant he actually needed Jaskier’s help and told him that the children needed a beacon to find their way home. And so the bard had agreed. Geralt had left his swords at Jaskier’s feet and he’d stood at the edge of those too still woods and played his lute, singing children’s songs, coaxing the lost souls home.

And they’d returned - all thirteen of them. Appearing as if out of a dream, stumbling out of the forest and looking like they were in a trance. Geralt had told him about this, too, so he kept playing, leading them right into town until they passed over the bridge that spanned the creek and suddenly the spell was broken. The children ran to their parents, crying in relief and Jaskier collected their payment from the alderman and then wandered back to the woods to wait for Geralt. 

He waited another night and a day. But the Witcher didn’t reappear and Jaskier had begun to get nervous. So he went back to the old wise-woman, who looked so unsurprised that he’d honestly thought about killing her right there and then. She’d known what would happen to Geralt. But then, so had Geralt. So instead, Jaskier forced the old wise-woman to help him. Decking him out with charms and wards against the Fae.

He waited until night, and then looked through the glass to see the path laid out before him. The path that would lead to Geralt. 

Now, in the deep quiet of the forest, nervous sweat making his skin itch, he was no less determined, but beginning to feel apprehensive. A thousand possibilities flitted through his mind, none of them settling long enough to make sense of. He gritted his teeth and pressed on. 

Eventually the path entered a clearing and then faded out. He looked up and his breath hitched as he saw the enormous tree sprawled out in front of him. It was a natural valley he’d made his way into, the tall rock walls reaching up on either side gently encompassing the massive tree. But when he looked closer, he saw it was actually a series of trees, growing together and creating an entrance that lead underneath their roots. He breathed deeply of the warm night air before standing up straight, shaking the tension out of his shoulders, and boldly walking forward. He was scared - terrified, if he was being honest with himself - of what lay before him, but the feeling was not for what could happen to him. Instead he was afraid of what they may have already done to Geralt.

Under the canopy of interlaced roots and branches, it wasn’t dark, but no less quiet. However, no matter how carefully he tried to tread, his footsteps rang out like he was walking across marble floors in court shoes. He resigned himself to the fact that they knew he was coming. The further he walked, the brighter it got until he nearly had to squint as he entered a closed chamber, the ceiling a mass of interlaced roots. It was an unnatural light here, seeming to come from all around him, and when he glanced around, he suddenly realized he was not alone. 

Lining the walls all the way around the room were the Fae. They were hard to look at, his eyes skittering over their features if he tried to look too closely. But he could tell they were beautiful. Their skin ranged from alabaster white to ink black, flawless and glowing with an inner light. They had gossamer wings, like a butterfly, shimmering between their shoulder blades, that flashed with rainbow hues. There were obvious distinctions between men and women for the most part, but some seemed to blend the two, or were neither, no less flawlessly beautiful for it. But their eyes, every one, was a deep, fathomless blue. He couldn’t help but shiver as they regarded him impassively. 

A sharp rap drew his attention forward. There, one of the Fae was seated on a long, curved bench, their long legs tucked cross-wise underneath them. They held a slender staff in one hand, which they tapped against the floor again, drawing all attention to them. They stared at Jaskier for a long moment before speaking.

“Jaskier - Dandelion - Buttercup - have you come to plead for the Witcher’s life?” 

Jaskier swallowed again before moving forward so he was a few steps from the ornate bench and bowed, a deep courtly bow. “I have come to take him home.” He spoke carefully, knowing his words could be twisted. “Who holds him here against his will?”

The Fae smiled then, all pointed teeth, before answering. “I am the Queen of all Fae. You may call me Morghan. Tell me, bard, what have you come to bargain with?” She looked at him implacably with those all-seeing eyes. 

“I’m not here to bargain,” he answered, voice steady. “I am here to take him home. He doesn’t belong here.” 

She seemed to consider this for a moment. “He took what was rightfully ours. It was part of the bargain the village made, long years ago. Sacrifice and tribute in exchange for protection. And if they broke the promise.” She shrugged, tapping the staff again so the sound rang out. “True sacrifice of their trueborn.” 

Well. The villagers hadn't told them that part. 

“But, I am willing to make the exchange. He stays. And no harm comes to the village. They keep what is theirs. And I - “ she leaned forward, teeth bared. “I keep what is mine.”

Inwardly, Jaskier sighed. He wasn’t a fool, not entirely, and he wasn’t an idiot - some would say debatable - but he was always mildly surprised when people underestimated him. Geralt had been doing it for years. Not that he hadn’t partially encouraged it. But there were just a lot of things people didn’t see when you were dressed up as a foppish dandy with a lute. Long years of his adolescence had taught him that you must be prepared for anything. Long years of trailing behind Geralt had only reinforced that. 

So it was with no little satisfaction that he flung the tiny silver blade directly into the Queen’s face. She screamed, which directed all the attention on her and not on the bottles that he subsequently threw in opposite directions to shatter on the floor. Immediately, noxious black and green smoke unfurled, spreading out in the room and choking anyone who breathed it in. It also effectively cloaked Jaskier’s movements as he raced around the Queen and headed through the doorway behind her, his sleeve shoved over his mouth to keep himself from inhaling too much of the smoke. 

He spun around as he passed the threshold, digging a handful of salt out of his pocket and trailing an unbroken line from one side of the door to the other. That should at least slow them down, he thought. He sprinted down the corridor, looking around wildly for where they might be keeping Geralt. 

He could hear movement up ahead and pulled free one of his daggers, sliding to a stop just to one side of the doorway and waiting to see who it was. A smaller, unwinged Fae stepped through, moving with some purpose and Jaskier came up behind her, wrapping an arm around her throat and bringing the dagger to bear at the base of her spine. The Fae hissed in pain as she was touched by the silver rings and gathered herself to scream.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Jaskier spoke very close to her ear. “I honestly have no intention of hurting you. Unless you give me cause to, of course. Now, do you know where they are keeping the Witcher? Yes or no?”

The Fae seemed to consider this for a moment before hissing, “Yes!” 

He backed off slightly before he took a string of braided daisies out of his pocket and wrapped it around the other’s wrists. “Good. Lead on.” 

The incredibly uncooperative Fae led him down another series of strange, root and branch encased corridors before stopping in front of a door. “He’s in here.” 

“Shall we go in?” he asked rhetorically. Unlatching the door with one hand, he shoved the Fae through with the other, tripping her so she staggered into the room and sprawled across the floor, her hands still bound by the braided daisies. “Ah well, not so dainty as I thought. I suppose the stories can’t all be true.” He glanced around the room - nothing more than a bare floor with a dingy mattress - and his eyes widened as he saw Geralt, kneeling with his back to one wall. 

The other was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “Jaskier?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion as his eyes dragged over him, noting the daggers, the silver rings and the flowers in his hair. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Who the fuck else would it be? We need to move before they catch up.” 

Geralt stood, slowly, his entire posture radiating suspicion and mistrust. “How do I know it’s really you?”

“Catch,” Jaskier said, tossing him one of the rings. Geralt plucked it from the air on instinct, feeling the familiar silver between his fingers. He looked back at Jaskier, who was grinning now, though his smile was hard, almost feral. “And now we both know we’re not illusions or Fae in disguise, can we please go?”

Geralt grunted, pushing past the bard and looking down the hall. “You came through the throne room?” he asked, still looking at Jaskier like he couldn’t quite believe he was there. 

“Is that what it was? Not very ornate or interesting for a throne room. I guess that story is made up too.”

The Witcher grunted, cocking his head to listen. He darted down the hall to the left, and Jaskier followed, closing and locking the door behind him. No sense alerting them immediately to anything amiss. Geralt tried to lead but Jaskier caught his hand, pulling him close. 

“You’ve got no protections, no swords, no plan, am I right?” The other pursed his lips in a thin line. “Exactly. Here,” he handed him one of the steel daggers, which seemed ridiculously small in the Witcher’s enormous hands. “Stay behind me. Don’t give me that fucking look! Do as you’re told for once in your life, Geralt.”

He was silent for a moment, staring specutively at Jaskier before nodding, once. “That line doesn’t work on you,” he said, lips quirking slightly.

Jaskier huffed out a breath. “Ya, well, I’m full of surprises.” He led the way through the corridors, cognizant of the fact that they could both hear the steady beat of drums somewhere behind them. “They’re not going to like either of us or the village after this little escapade,” he surmised, dodging around a corner. He peaked down the next corridor, seeing only darkness at the end and perked up. “However, I can see our escape now, so I’m beginning to stop caring.” 

A sound from behind them had both of them whipping around, Geralt’s bringing up the dagger in one hand. Jaskier had spun on his heel, another tiny silver blade flying from his hand to imbed itself in the approaching Fae lord’s throat. It must have pierced his vocal chords, as he clawed at his neck, flesh burning around it. 

“Come on!” Jaskier urged to the suddenly stunned Geralt, grabbing his arm and heading down the darkening corridor. They ran. The corridor seemed to narrow above them, the floor beneath them giving way to dirt and the strange light slowly dimming until they burst out of what had become a tunnel and into the early morning air. Jaskier immediately dug through his pouches, liberally dousing the ground in front of the entrance with handfuls of salt and then drawing a line of it over the entrance mouth. Once he was finished, he turned to see Geralt staring at him again, brows knit together in what Jaskier assumed was confusion but could have just as easily been constipation at this point.

“What?” Jaskier asked, still trying to catch his breath and wiping his hands off on his breeches. He started walking back towards the village, skirting the forest that was now to their left, not waiting for Geralt to follow. 

The Witcher caught up with him easily, offering back his dagger, which he sheathed in the scabbard on his thigh. “I - “ he started, before pursing his lips and grunting. “You came after me,” he said instead.

Jaskier sighed. “Ya, of course I did. Wasn’t going to leave you to the mercies of the Fae Court. They’re right fucking bastards, you know?” He grimaced. “And they would have killed you. Taken you apart, piece by piece, just to see how you worked. I couldn’t - “ he broke off, voice cracking. 

“No. You couldn’t,” Geralt said quietly. “But, this - “ he grabbed Jaskier’s arm and stopped him, turning him so they face each other and gestured at him, indicating the rings and daggers, before gently touching the flowers still in his hair. “You came for a fight. You knew what you were doing.” It sounded almost, but not quite, accusatory.

“Bollocks,” Jaskier laughed. “Have I gone and ruined your idea of me now?” He licked his lips and was surprised to see Geralt’s eyes follow the motion. He’d always had feelings for the Witcher, tamped down like a burning ember inside his chest, but he also knew how to read people and that motion was slightly more than friendly. “What are you going to do about it?” his voice was slightly harder now, challenging, and Geralt looked up at him, startled. 

“You hid this,” he said, hand still in his hair. “Why would you make me think you were - “

“Useless?” Jaskier broke in. He laughed, but it came out more like a choked off sound of pain. He shrugged. “Easier, I suppose. No one looks at the person trying to stand out. They look for the one hiding in the shadows.”

“Hmm.”

“Is that all you’re going to say? Hmm?”

“No.” Geralt paused before, quieter, “Thank-you.” His hand was cupping Jaskier’s cheek now, thumb rubbing along his jaw. 

Jaskier stilled completely under his touch, holding his breath, but as the silence drew out for more than three seconds, he added, “Does this mean you’re going to kill me now?” 

That startled a laugh out of Geralt, though his thumb didn’t stop. “No. But you’re going to have to tell me the story of all this.” 

Jaskier couldn’t stand it anymore and leaned up, brushing his lips against Geralt’s and when the other didn’t back away, he deepened it, hand coming up to catch the other’s stubbled cheek. They stood like that for several long moments, just tasting each other, before Geralt made a small noise and broke away. 

“Is that another dagger?” He grabbed Jaskier’s wrist and pulled a tiny silver dagger from the edge of his tightly bound sleeves. “How many of these do you have?” 

“That’s a secret,” Jaskier smiled.


End file.
